


Disillusion

by primeideal



Category: Wheel of Time - Robert Jordan
Genre: Book 11: Knife of Dreams, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:35:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24058348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/primeideal/pseuds/primeideal
Summary: Mat Cauthon is not a bloody hero. And apparently, neither is Jain Farstrider.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 9





	Disillusion

**Author's Note:**

> "If Noal had put the boy off his favorite book, Mat was going to have words with the old man. Reading was important--he read himself; sometimes, he did--and he had made sure Olver had books he enjoyed." - Knife of Dreams, Chapter 6

"Mat," said Olver, "Will you play Snakes and Foxes with me?"

"I'm busy," said Mat. Well, it wasn't entirely a lie. He had to make sure the horse he'd purchased for Tuon was settling in well. And bother Aludra about her nightflowers. And maybe, if she was feeling particularly lenient, about a few other things as well. Could he really wait a year for Tuon to forget about what he'd blurted incredulously? Light, they might not _have_ a year until Rand had to fight Tarmon bloody Gai'don. He saw the familiar haze of colors--Rand was with Min, who looked to be giving him an earful about something. No, no thoughts of Rand. "Ask Noal."

"Don't want to," said Olver, "he's always in a bad mood."

Perceptive, for ten years. "Do you have a book to read? Riselle would want to know you're studying hard."

"No."

"Right," said Mat, pacing over to the tent that Olver shared with Juilin and Amathera. "Juilin, Olver here says he doesn't have any books to read. Has someone been thieving from your tent? Because I'd need your thief-taking skills, if so."

Juilin grinned. "I'd be happy to help, but I don't think there's a need." He rolled up Olver's blankets, producing the beaten-up copy of _The Travels of Jain Farstrider_ that the boy had been reading. "Isn't a thief for miles who would mess with our band."

"There you have it," said Mat. "Thank you, Juilin."

"Don't want to read," said Olver, tossing the book back with his things. "Noal says Jain Farstrider was nothing but a bloody old fool."

"Noal's a silly old man, and you aren't to repeat that sort of language."

"You do it," Olver pointed out.

Well, of all the habits the boy could have picked up riding with three Aes Sedai, the anxious ex-Panarch, and the bloody Daughter of the Nine flaming Moons, there was probably worse. "I'll tell him where he can shove it."

"Shove what?"

"Never mind," said Mat.

Nerim was gloomy as ever in the tent he shared with Lopin, Thom, and Noal, while Noal himself was out seeing to a "personal matter." Thom, however, nodded politely to Mat as he walked inside. "Can you teach Olver to play stones?"

" _Can_ I? I suppose, he's a quick study. _Will_ I? I suspect he would not enjoy being trounced, nor letting me win."

Mat sighed. Maybe Aludra could do it, if he asked her nicely.

"Has he gotten bored of Snakes and Foxes yet?" Lopin asked. "I suppose there comes a time for everyone."

"He hasn't," said Mat, "that's the trouble."

Noal walked back in, his mouth closed in a sullen frown that hid his missing teeth.

"Right," said Mat. "I don't care whether your bloody cousin tweaked your nose or stole the last biscuit from under you, but you either apologize to Olver, or you help me find another book in this flaming camp." Thom gave him a questioning look, and he went on, "Whatever's in that bloody letter doesn't count, if it makes an old man like Thom mournful I don't want to know what it's going to do to Olver."

"I would hate to think I'd given Olver any offense," said Noal, "but I'm not sure what my nose has to do with anything. It might not enchant the women, but this is the one I was born with."

"He won't do his reading because you called Jain Farstrider just a...whatever it is you called him. Boys that age ought to have heroes to read about, you can't expect them to be taking in the analyses of Madoc bloody Comadrin."

"The boy's seen his share of grief," Noal pointed out. "He ought to know that just because a fellow writes fancy books doesn't make him a good man."

"The Seanchan might have something he could borrow," said Lopin. "It'd be good for him to learn about different parts of the world."

"The Seanchan didn't exactly have much time to pack," Mat noted dryly.

"You don't need to read to be educated," said Noal. "Why, in Shara, perhaps only one man in ten can--"

"Give over," said Mat, "if half the tales you spin are true I'll eat my hat. Which would really be a shame, as it's a fine hat. Lands beyond the Waste! Isles of the bloody Sea Folk indeed.

"Perhaps, but I'm still too old to teach a child his letters."

"You're too old for a lot of things, to hear you tell it," said Mat. "Why are you sticking around for people like us who get into trouble?"

Noal had to consider that one a moment. "Luca draws a good crowd. More call for hearing stories with a traveling show than at the Silver Circuit."

At least Ebou Dar was safe enough. If the Tinkers trusted the Seanchan rule, anyone could feel safe there. Well, anyone but an Aes Sedai, and for all the adventure he'd seen Noal was not one of those. Maybe he could send him back with Tuon and Selucia, a sort of honor guard. When he sent them back. Light, he could not wait a year!

"Well then, I'm sure his performers probably have plenty of books too," Mat said. "Maybe you can borrow one of them."

Noal blinked. "Perhaps," he said, and walked out of the tent.

"Burn me," said Mat, "I didn't think he'd take me up on it."

"You have quite a way with words," Thom said. Was the man smiling? Maybe if some of his _ta'veren_ luck helped with women he'd have a point, but really.

"Sorry to disturb you," said Mat, touching his hat as he made for the tent flap. It _was_ a fine hat, really.

"If you must," Nerim droned, "better over Olver's reading material than a _gholam_."

Outside, any thoughts of dropping by Aludra's wagon were stifled by Tuon's approach. "Why, Toy, what has you up and about so late?"

"I'm seeing to Olver's education. Precious."

"How thoughtful." Even with a full head of hair, she would not have been the type of woman he found attractive, but why bother to going to the trouble of shaving so much of her head if she was only going to cover it up again? Light, he'd understand _da'covale_ before he made sense of the Imperial family. "May I see your ring?"

"What do you want with it?"

"Not to steal it, you can be sure of that--I have much finer at home."

Well, she'd kept her word about lesser matters. "Have at it."

Tuon paced over and stared down at the insignia. "How did you come by this?"

"I purchased it," said Mat. Better she worry about this than the _ashanderei_. "At a shop in Ebou Dar. You're welcome to buy it off me."

Tuon laughed softly. "That is not needful, Toy, but the offer is kind."

"My name," he said, "is Mat. Or Matrim. Or Matrim bloody Cauthon, if you must."

"Where I am from," said Tuon, "a man must be very peculiar to be spoken of with three names."

"Well, there are lots of bloody men in Seanchan, if what Egeanin says is anything to go by."

"Leilwin, Toy." Burn her, the woman even remembered Egeanin's new name but wouldn't grant him his own? "That reminds me, you still have not told me who Jain the far-strider is."

Was everyone going to pester him? "I'm not sure I know anymore," said Mat. "Man from up north. Malkier, I think, which is Shienar now." Moiraine had told him stories, but his memory of that time was blurry. Why did a fellow have to remember prophecies and Shadowspawn when he couldn't remember his own travels?

"Your nations fade and disappear when the Shadow touches them," said Tuon thoughtfully. "That is very bad. Something will need to be done about that."

"You're bloody right it will," said Mat. Hopefully the kind that involved killing Trollocs rather than the Seanchan putting every nation under the same throne. Though killing Trollocs usually involved channelling, and that was not something he was eager to get mixed up in either. "Uh, he travelled to a lot of different places. Wrote books about it."

"A writer, you say? You would like our books, Toy. Some of them are written in the Great Script, what you call the Old Tongue. You read it well, don't you?"

"You stay away from my spear," Mat said, "or I'll show you some other places I can put it."

Tuon smiled, of all things. "Perhaps you might, Toy."

"Right, then," said Noal, making his way back towards the tents. "See that this gets back to Clarine when Olver's done with it. It's about Artur Hawkwing, and I reckon he's been dead long enough that no one'll pay any mind if it's off in a point or two." He glanced over at Tuon. "I hope."

"Thank you," said Mat, scurrying back to Juilin and Amathera's tent before Tuon could pester him any further. "Olver, this is from Clarine. See you don't lose it, or she'll sic her dogs on you."

"Clarine's dogs are nice," said Olver, "they wouldn't bite me." But he settled in to read the book anyway, which was all Mat could ask for.

Before returning to his tent, Mat stopped by Aludra's wagon. "Would you be willing to teach Olver how to play stones?" he asked. "Not now. Just some night if he's bored?"

"I suppose," she said. "Though he is a little too young to be a challenge, yes?"

"I'm not going to play you at stones," said Mat. "Tuon would be jealous." As he'd hoped, she took this as a good joke rather than pester him on what he meant by his "relationship" with the Daughter of the Nine bloody Moons.

Olver, Mat decided, had a point. Whatever else Jain Farstrider may have been, abandoning his wife was not unforgivable, and it might even have made sense. Women were just too much bloody trouble.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Disillusion [Podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24348367) by [tinypinkmouse_podfics (tinypinkmouse)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinypinkmouse/pseuds/tinypinkmouse_podfics)




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